The Cursed Prince
by Kuenchin Kuroe
Summary: Actual Japanese history collides with the Mononoke Hime adventure as Lord Nobunaga plans to unify Japan, crushing all Yoshiaki loyalists that stand in his way. After Iron Tower was rebuilt and the tragic death of San, Ashitaka must forsake his vow never t


The Cursed Prince

An Original Story by Kuenchin Kuroe

Based on the tale _Mononoke Hime_ by Hayao Miyazaki

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Introduction

I have known many heroes in my time, yet it these lightless days they are few. Not unlike the hearts of men, the land has become unfertile, infecund and stained by rifle powder and cannon soot. Where endless tracts of shimmering rice fields once glimmered in the afternoon sun, pillars of black smoke rise from muddy highways. Rivers of blood flow unseen through withering forests. Whether you stand atop the highest mountain or within a sunken atoll, you will see these things. Now, man and his iron have reached so far as the newly appointed capital city Edo itself. A great shadow has fallen across the realm of Japan.

This is a tale of a prince who forsook his destiny, a warrior who stood before a God, and a man who knew a love greater than all others. This man is Ashitaka. Born the sole heir to the ruling seat of a mysterious tribe in the east, Ashitaka, for his selflessness, was cursed. His adventure took him far into the west where he found ruin and destruction, where the evils of iron saw the end of the last great spirits alive from the first of days. Ashitaka. The swordsman. The prince.

The hero.

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Chronicle One

The Demon Marches

Silver clouds rolled threateningly over the wheat fields. A strong wind gusted out of the north, whisking the rider's cloak tightly about him. His muscular stallion challenged the forces of nature, leaped down a steep ravine, and slowed as it neared the base of the watchtower. The horseman dismounted before his stallion had come to a complete stop, nimbly climbing up the wooden spokes and up to the tiny, thatched pavilion.

The top of the watchtower was barely protected from the frightening mistrals that battered against the timber of the outpost. The stout man inside shivered; the cold beans and chilled water did little in alleviating his discomfort. His eyes were wide, wary.

"What news from the west wall?" he asked, his voice thick with suspicion as though the wind itself that carried off his words was a traitorous enemy.

The spindly rider seemed to ignore the wind, simply rubbing his frost bitten hands together and drinking from the flask. After he had slaked his thirst, he gazed out across the plain as if expecting to see the banners of an approaching army.

"Lord Nobunaga has amassed close to three thousand musketeers," he mumbled at last. "They're moving early. He aims to reach Nagashino by late October before the first snow."

"_Three thousand?"_ the other man said in disbelief. "How could he possibly levy such an army?"

The horseman just shook his head.

"And Lord Yoshiaki?"

"Already fortifying. Digging trenches. But the roads north of Kino are already freezing over and dappled by outlaw bands loyal to Yoshiaki. Nobunaga will never go that way. He'll ride south and up the Tanaka highway into Nagashino."

The stout guardsman blinked.

"B-but! That will lead him here!"

Nodding quickly, the slender man reached for a handful of beans. "You know what this means, Yota."

Visibly trembling, the other nodded. His sausage-like fingers toyed absently with the pommel of his sword.

"Of course I do."

"Lord Nobunaga will demand tribute."

"Tribute…" The fat man looked sickly.

"If we pay him, we will appear as traitors to Yoshiaki."

"But if we don't pay him, he'll behead us all!" protested the other.

"Quite the conundrum, isn't it, Yota?" the rider pondered.

A shrieking wind swept around the tower. The timbers groaned. Below, the rider's stallion stamped nervously upon the ground.

"Well what'll we do, Isahiko?" pleaded Yota.

"We must bring this news to the council immediately," the horseman named Isahiko replied. "They must be aware of what fate will soon befall us and must choose if they wish to rise to meet it or flee."

*

The young girl bent subserviently down and poured more tea into the empty cups. The three old men, the council of the village of Tatsumi, ruminated quietly. Their hair was as thin as their hopes, their whitening brows thick with worry. Yet of none of this they spoke, only sipped their tea and ate from the rice bowls. Even the rice had to be carefully rationed.

Padding lightly across the tatami mat, the girl knelt down upon her knees and slid closed the shoji behind her. Walking out onto the wooden verandah, she espied Yota and Isahiko striding up the hill. Upon seeing her, Isahiko sped into a trot up towards the council house.

"Mina," he said urgently. "Are the council in ceremony?"

Mina nodded. "They are," she said. "It is early to have returned from the watch, isn't it?" She inquired, hoping she hadn't been too bold.

Isahiko glared at her. The serious he wore upon his face made the hairs upon the back of her neck rise.

"Mina," said he, "I must have an audience with the councilmen now. It is imperative that they hear what news I bring from the west wall."

Mina pleaded with her eyes. If she intruded during a tea ceremony, she'd be reprimanded later on. Not Isahiko. It was the way of things in medieval Japan.

"There's nothing to worry about," Isahiko soothed, tracing the side of her cheek lightly, offering a wan smile. "You won't be chastised for this."

Mina turned, padding back inside. Isahiko turned to Yota.

"Let me take care of this," he ordered. "It's been a difficult autumn. We'll have to be tactful with the councilmen."

It was true. Though it was only the bitter end of September, it felt as though it could have been November. Many of the smaller ponds had frozen up. Shards of ice drifted by in the streams, and the days grew increasingly grayer with the promise of impending snow. Fewer riders galloped up the roads into the middle lands and fewer still wished to make the journey into the Ekero marketplace for supplies.

"Please forgive this intrusion," said Mina quietly, avoiding the caustic gazes of the three councilmen. "Two guardsmen bring important tidings this day."

"Well let's have them," said one of the councilmen sternly. His eyes were closely set, dark, and cloudy.

A moment later, Isahiko and Yota entered the room, their boots removed. They bowed deeply. The elders acknowledged with a crisp nod of their heads. As Isahiko approached, he noted that it wasn't much warmer in the lodge than it was in the outpost.

"Chief Councilman Isao," he began, "I bring important word from the west."

"Well," replied Isao. "Speak."

As Isahiko recounted the news of Nobunaga's army and his three thousand newly outfitted musketeers, Mina's face became pale and ashen. She knew that Nobunaga would bring his men through the village. What that could mean for her she dare not imagine.

When the guardsman was finished with his tale, Isao returned to his tea and finished the cup.

"God willing, Lord Nobunaga will take the high road," he muttered.

"He will not," countered Isahiko. "He knows it is too dangerous. There are too many well armed Yoshiaki loyalists in that territory. He will not risk hindering his movements so. He will come here."

The other two councilmen exchanged glances. Isao was silent as the grave.

"Chief Isao," Isahiko urged. "We must prepare. When his troops come, they will demand supplies. Quarter. Money. We have none to spare. He will make us swear loyalty, else kill our able bodied men and rape our women."

"Do not speak to me of things I know!" bellowed Isao quite loudly for a man of his diminutive stature. "There are many worries upon my old shoulders, guardsman, of which you are not aware."

"Worries as terrible as the warlord Nobunaga, chief councilman?"

Isao stared icily at Isahiko, but the young guardsman continued.

"They say he is a demon taken the body of a man, chief councilman. They say he has eluded death more times than any other warrior alive. They say his sword moves with the alacrity of devilish lightning. My lord, if he comes here… We will need to make decisions."

Isao folded his hands.

"We will give the Lord Nobunaga what he asks for and pray that he does not show us ill will."

Shock arrested Isahiko's face.

"Chieftain?" he said, tone rippling with surprise.

"You heard me. Now be gone."

"But councilman--"

"Your impudence has become taxing, guardsman!" shrieked Isao. "We are not loyalists of Nobunaga, but if we must pretend that we are, so is the way of things."

"That is treasonous…" Isahiko whispered.

"Come, Isahiko," Yota murmured, tugging at his companion's arm. "Let's go."

Outside in the fresh air, Isahiko shouted choice oaths into the wind.

"Age has seen that man's mind stale, Yota," the guardsman protested. "He is like a withered leaf that refuses to fall from the tree. He should not govern."

"There is little we can do," countered his friend. "We must make ourselves scarce when Lord Nobunaga arrives."

"You would hide?" Isahiko hissed bitterly.

"From three thousand men with muskets and thousands of trained swordsmen, yes I would, Isahiko!" cried the other. "For heaven's sake, come to your senses!"

Isahiko stomped down the porch. He stopped in his tracks.

"Who is that?" he asked, pointing across the square.

Yota followed his gaze. There by the old well knelt an outlandishly dressed man, his age undeterminable. His large eyes were emulsified by the shroud worn by one who had seen too much blood and hatred in his lifetime. He wore a wide brimmed hat, bathing much of his face in shadow. Beside him, a red elk grazed quietly at a pile of frosted hay. The man hefted the water pail out of the well and began filling his flasks.

"Oh," Yota smirked. "_Him_. Nobody knows much of anything about him. He seems to be a monk. Arrived yesterday. I haven't heard him give his name to anyone yet but from what I've heard, he's laboring for rations. He's as poor a man as the rest of us."

Isahiko squinted doubtfully.

"Why does he dress like that? And his mount…Have you ever seen a creature that unusual?"

"A red horse," Yota replied. "It's like something out of a story."

"It's not a horse," Isahiko mused, wrinkling his brow in wonder. "It's an elk."

Yota's face contorted like a prune. "A what?"

"Never mind," interrupted the other. "Let's go. We have work to do…"


End file.
